


Bounding Main

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Happy Ending, Humanstuck, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Past Character Death, Sailing, Sirens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-03-02 18:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18816904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Destiny has a funny way of working everything out in the end.Karkat, a freshly made siren who has no fucking clue what's going on and never signed up for this shit in the first place, stumbles headfirst into what seems to be the world's greatest love story, stretched across lifetimes and generations—only to find out that he's the key player neither he himself nor the Siren Princess or Dashing Admiral expected.





	1. A different shade of blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ungrateful_sinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungrateful_sinner/gifts).



> "Merstuck au where sirens are formed by those vengeful spirits drowned at sea. Sirens in the same area tend to flock together in pods.
> 
> Feat. Eridan Ampora as the former admiral who wants to take out every pirate ship within a twenty mile radius, Feferi Peixes as the princess who's been a siren for as long as she can remember, and Karkat Vantas as the new siren who did NOT sign up for this resurrection shit.
> 
> Happy and/or hopeful endings only, please!"
> 
> boy do I hope I delivered because this prompt was fucking _bomb_

"No. Absolutely not."

You roll your eyes, not particularly caring if he sees, and pick up speed. "Come on, Karkat! You and I both know that going off on your own—"

"It's not a matter of going off on my own, it's a matter of _I never fucking signed up for this shit_ ," he says, spinning to face you. The new guy might only have a few inches on you, but they're solid enough to make him intimidating. Or at least they would be, if you were anyone else but you.

"Are you saying you _wanted_  to die?"

"Yes! That is absolutely what I'm saying!" He turns around once more—or maybe you'd let yourself drift too far? Hm, interesting—and keeps swimming. "I mean, not at first, but once I accepted my apparently preordained fate, I had absolutely no plans to wake up as...whatever the hell it is that I am!"

"A siren," you tell him, as patiently as you've told him the last twenty-three times. You've kept count, which might make it seem like you're lying about being patient, but really, you could do this all day. 

He spins around again, and you make an approving mental note of the color that the sea has chosen for him; bright, crimson red. New guy is kind of dramatic! Lucky that he's kind of cute, too. "And another thing! What the _fuck_  does that even mean!"

"Sirens are formed by vengeful spirits who have drowned at sea." It might be poor manners for a princess, but you can't resist the urge to needle him a little further. "Are you sure you made peace with your death?"

Given the way he goes stark white at the question, you're thinking that maybe he's coming to some grand realization.

 

Really, it's times like these that you wish you could more easily provide some thematically appropriate mood music.

 

* * *

 

Above the tide, where those who aren't yet sirens roam, there is an admiral who has served out the terms of his commission and taken up a different one that allows him to be a little more hands-on-the-deck. Unorthodox, to be sure, but most take into account the depth of his grief. Losing your family to pirates is enough to drive anyone a little mad, and regardless of what Eridan Ampora may have become, he's still well-respected enough that none would say such, and even if he wasn't, his family name is.

The time and tide have added to his looks, according to most. Amporas tend towards distinguished and gentlemanly, with a painter's touch of battle-hardened as time goes on, shifting into softness when they have children or find partners—sometimes, at least—but Eridan Ampora seems to have stopped at battle-hardened and stayed there. It's not a bad look on him, even if it means an addition to the tutting and concern.

Eridan Ampora, meanwhile, does not care. He has a task to complete, and he will not rest until it is through.

 

* * *

 

"Just tell me!"

"NO."

This exchange has been ongoing for the past week or so, much to the annoyance of the pods you've met. Actually, you've already met most all of them, but trying to find a good fit for Karkat has proven to be a little bit difficult. By your count, you've already done a lap around this whole sea and ended up right back at the start. This cluster of rocks and land and sea caves and other such things would be well-loved by sirens if they weren't such a haven for pirates. Instead, it's something of a hunting ground for you, and a birthing ground for those who are made anew.

Not a bad place to start, but you're not sure if it's the best place to end.

 

Shit. Karkat's getting further away.

 

You dart around to cut him off, then pull yourself out of the water before he can. He hasn't yet made a trip up on land, and you'd really prefer he not shock himself when he does—the shift from a mermaid-like tail to smooth feathers and wings is kind of a drastic one, even if it only feels like the fizzling pops of sea foam over your skin.

Of course, the look of shock (and awe, and maybe a little flicker of _oh no she's hot like this too_ ) isn't enough to stop your quest. "Just tell me about your vengeance, Crabcatch! I promise I'll help."

The pout might be overdoing it, but you're only saying that because he looks like you've brained him with a piece of driftwood. Actually, this is the first time he hasn't been able to protest one of your increasingly ridiculous nicknames for him, and you're actually kind of proud. "I, uh," he manages, and swallows hard. "Does—do we always do that?"

"Once you're _really_  good at this, you'll be able to put the wings away," you tell him, and he nods all in a hurry, like he's hanging on your every word. You don't blame him; your wings are fucking _stunning_. "Angels of the sea, singers of the deeps. You'll get used to it!"

"Right," he mumbles, and hoists himself up on land beside you. Cardinal red. Damn, the ocean's good. "Fuck, okay, uh. So...the wings will be like my tail? The color, I mean."

"Yeah, generally!" You flare yours out, letting the feathers rustle and shake as they shed droplets of water. "I've seen some that don't quite match up? But I think that's more down to...well, it's not all about color, you know? There's a bit of how you see yourself in there too!"

"Oh, great, now people get to judge me on what kind of half-fish _and_  half-bird I am. Absolutely fucking wonderful."

"Listen, just because I said sharks make the best lawyers doesn't _actually_  mean all of our lawyers are sharks—"

"Sirens have _lawyers_?"

It's a conversational derail to be sure, but you're willing to indulge him in it, if only because it's the most active, invested, and actually involved you've seen him in _days_. He's really had you worried! And even if you're the hands on type of princess, you can't spend _all_  of your free time swimming around after interesting newcomers. Maybe you can convince him to go with your pod or something? Anything that's not just leaving him alone in this potentially dangerous spot.


	2. A different point of view

Sleepless nights are of little concern for Captain Eridan Ampora. When your first lessons in navigation followed the path of the stars, the currents of the waves, the wings of the birds, sleepless nights are a matter of course, and his father had insisted that every child of their family learn all the ways of the water, old and new. It was one of the few things he could do that actually _helped_ , some nights, when he was feeling lost and disconnected from everyone he'd lost and loved.

Funny, how things change.

Another look out across the sea, and he sighs, rubbing a tired hand over an even more tired face. Two days ago, when they'd still been docked in port, an old family acquaintance had told him how much he'd grown to look like his father, and he hasn't quite gotten over it yet.

Eridan Ampora is a curious character in this tale. He is a sailor down to his bones, but he descends from nobility, and carries that in his bearing as well. The two are a combination that don't usually mix (much to the amusement and disdain of ship crews everywhere), but the marriage of the two comes together well in Eridan Ampora, to say the least.

Perhaps it's time to pull back a little bit more. Offer up another view of what exactly his story is about, at the heart of its very start.

 

* * *

 

_Once upon a time..._

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a soldier who learned to sail. This was in a kingdom and a time where royalty moved freely amongst all the lands and people, meeting who they chose and learning all their kingdom knew. The soldier met a princess, fell in love, and went to sea to guard her.

Once upon a time, there was a princess who was curious about life and all the things in it. This curiosity extended over the waves and waters, to all the world around her, and to all the people in it, especially her own. One day, when she was on a journey over the ocean, her ship was attacked. Even though she fought as well as she'd been trained, she fell. Even though she fell, she did not die until she drowned, and even though she drowned, she did not fall into the water's deepest sleep until she'd saw the merciless, ruthless, and undeservedly _cruel_  way the enemy handled her people. Her crew.

Once upon a time, in a land neither soldier nor princess yet knew, there was a girl who spoke to the sea.

Once upon a time...

—a soldier-sailor survived the wrong battle, ended up in the wrong kingdom, and kept finding ways back to the sea, and learning more than the sea intended him to know.

—ethereal, inexplicable, _beautiful_ music seemed to call a storm so brutal it destroyed an entire kingdom's fleet, and lightning or drowning struck several prominent nobles dead.

Once upon a time (or maybe more than once), the sea fell in love with a human.

—a promotion landed a soldier into the ranks of the nobility.

—a princess found a new kingdom.

—the sea and a human had a child.

—a new noble learned of the strains of strange bloodlines that ran through the crown.

—the tides began to change.

—a lineage was found.

 

* * *

 

Eridan Ampora, unaware though he is of the strange, sea-change things that run through his blood (sirens and selkies and mermaids and ocean tides and sea speakers and much more, so much more) from both directions, is highly aware of the call he feels, the push and pull of the sea as much a piece of his heartbeat as the flow of blood in his veins.

He assumes it's nothing unusual.

He assumes every other sailor feels like this.

And, well, he's not exactly wrong, but he's not entirely right. Someday he'll learn the difference, but it's unlikely that the fabled someday is coming any time soon. Unfortunately for him, it runs in the blood.

 

He looks out across the ocean, towards his destination; a cluster of islands and broken pieces of land too small to be considered such by any sane human, and wonders if this is the end of his journey, if he's finally found the clue that will piece together this whole godsdamn mission and make him feel _whole_.

In short, Eridan Ampora, a soul that would almost certainly become a siren if he had the misfortune to drown right about now, is wondering if he's finally going to find his vengeance.


	3. The ocean needs the moon

You're perched up in a tree when the first ship comes sailing in.

Karkat, weirdly enough, is contrary as fuck. After the first couple rounds of incidents (he's made you promise not to tell anyone that you had to catch him after he fell out of his first tree), he takes to flight well, his wings coming in easily, but just when you think he's got the hang of the latest trick you're showing him—hiding his wings, banking sharply left or tightly right, holding steady in a glide—he'll call a halt and mumble something about feeling too "dry". You'd call him on it if the weird dichotomy of his mood swings didn't mean he's learning twice as many tricks in half the time.

Maybe you'll bring it up once you've run out of things to teach him, but that could take a _really_  long time.

Humans seem like a good reason to move up your timeline. It's easy to spot a few souls on that ship who definitely _deserve_  a good and watery grave, but they're not coming in recklessly, chased by pirates, or fighting a storm. If you're taking on a full ship of seemingly-healthy sailors, you'd want a little more backup than a newbie siren who won't even tell you more than a fragment or two of his backstory.

"Karkat!"

"Grmmph?" His head pops out of a neighboring tree, and you totally fail to hide a giggle at the sight of the mango in his mouth and his untameably fluffy hair, poked through with branches and twigs. He scowls and snatches the half-eaten fruit out of his mouth, adding it to the pile of other treats he's been collecting. "Oh, fuck off, Feferi. What?"

You tip a wing down towards the water, more out of courtesy than anything else. Really, he's old enough to spot these things on his own. "Humans."

Pale looks about as good on him as it does on you—that is to say, not at all, when it makes you go that ashy kind of color. "Those are the banners of the Kingdom of Vareti," he says, his voice the scared kind of steady-slow you see in frightened humans and terrified sirens.

And then you process exactly what he's said, and it's his turn to dive out of a tree and catch you before you hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

Karkat is warm, which isn't all that strange or unusual (common assumptions paint sirens as a much colder race than you are), but it is _nice_ , especially when you've both had a shock as big as the one—well, you're assuming his was just as bad as yours is, but that might not be entirely fair to him. Then again, he's told you so little that you've _had_  to assume just about everything going on which is really kind of unfair, in your opinion.

Also, he's glaring at you, even though he's still holding you in his arms. _Increasingly_  unfair.

"What's your beef with Vareti?"

Oh _ho_. You'd never claim to be an expert on siren behavior (or even human, for that matter, although most of them tend to be a little simpler to handle by the time they get to you), but your boy's clearly ruffled, by the way his wings are all fluffed up. You think his hair might be fluffier too, and when you reach out to stroke over it, he doesn't even stop you, pressing into your touch. "I feel like I should be asking you that?"

"You first," he says, and you roll your eyes. He's so childish about secrets, sometimes! "Well?"

"Fine, fine!" You shift a little in his lap, just in case you need to dart or hide your face, and give him enough time to settle back into the nice little hollow of roots and trunk and soft grass (that just so happened to be attached to the tree you fell out of) before you begin. "This was a long time ago, but I know humans still tell stories about Old Saresa, before it became the Kingdom of Sarellan."

Karkat has a tendency to get sucked into stories, you've learned, and there's few things more rewarding than watching his scowl shift into something a little softer, as he takes in all you have to say.

"Ages and ages ago, I lived in Sarellan," you tell him, already planning a few more scenes ahead. It's likely that he's already heard some version of this story, and just as likely that it's nowhere near right. Better to recast yourself, or leave out certain details that would make him cry foul. You have nothing to prove, after all. Not anymore. "I loved to travel, though, to see the world and meet all the people in it, and the rest of my family thought the same, so we were almost always on the go."

His hand's slowly moved upward, so slow you think he might not know he's doing it, and you give him a soft smile when it ends up tangled in your hair, just to see the way it makes him blush.

"There were problems and perils with that, of course, but none of us had ever faced one we couldn't handle, until _they_  struck." From the way he tenses up, you have a feeling that he knows where you're going with this. "Vareti...Vareti was always a more warlike sort of kingdom. Strength and power was valued there, and as for the treaties they made, everyone knew such things never held for long. Even their nobles went out raiding—in fact, _all_  of their nobles did, for treasure and glory. Their word for 'lord' meant 'war leader', actually."

There might be a little too much venom in your voice, because you can see Karkat getting even more curious. Time to tone it down.

"A smaller fleet of nobility attacked the ship I was on and slaughtered...almost the entire crew, save those they decided to spare, out of amusement or some sense of Varetian pride—or maybe one of their damn _codes_  that they never seemed to obey half of the time." Now he's definitely suspicious. "I was dying, and I knew it would be long and slow and painful. It would take hours, if not days. But there was the water, right there, and I decided it'd be a better way to go than waiting to see what they would do next. I'd never been so _angry_  in my life, and I don't think I'll ever be as angry again."

"So you rolled over the edge?"

You actually have to laugh, but you think it comes out as a bit of a teary thing. "No, actually. I was about to try, when I saw them going after another—they hadn't killed everyone, and a few of us had managed to hide, and—I think they were planning to attempt some sort of, you know, desperate last strike?" He grips you tighter, and you manage to remember how to breathe. "I was furious. I _screamed_  at them to stop, said I'd kill them all myself, and they just _laughed_. One of them came over, and hauled me up onto my feet, asked me exactly how I intended to do that, and, I just—"

This is the most you've ever said, and you think you're close to crying, and when you look up at Karkat, all you can think is that you'd never thought he could be so _calm_. "Tell me."

"I grabbed the knife out of his belt and stabbed him. It was kind of pathetic, I barely got the blade half an inch in, didn't even hit anything vital, he definitely would've lived, but..." You still remember it with all kinds of clarity. "A freak wave swept over the boat. Came out of absolutely nowhere, swept us both over and out to sea, and I have no idea if he made it back or not but I remember sinking down, slowly, and wishing I could do the same to all of them, just the way the wave had done to him."

"Fuck," he mumbles, curling tighter around you, his wings a soft circle over both your heads. "You left out the part where you're actually the lost princess, Feferi."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumble, shoving your tear-streaked face into his shoulder. "People don't usually _believe_  me."


	4. Take the tides away

The former admiral is a great believer in certain tenets to live by. Near the top of the list is "if you want something done right, do it yourself" and it's one of the ones, in his opinion, that's the most accurate he's found so far. To that end, he sends _himself_  off as well as his crew, into the deep wilderness of these pest-ridden islands, hellbent on ridding them of the pirate scum he knows all too well. His crew will be able to handle whatever they can find, and he'll take his own time to deal with the scourge that plague his nightmares, even after so damn long.

He's fine. Really, he is.

 

This particular island is lush and green, a beautiful symphony of life and color, and for a moment, Eridan looks up at the towering trees and wishes he was someone who could enjoy such a place for what it is.

A ripple of wind rolls through the trees, and Eridan shifts his rifle to settle easily on one shoulder, checking that all of his other guns and knives are in place before he ends up too far away to call for help.

Not that he'll need it. He knows exactly how this is going to go.

 

* * *

 

From the trees that you and Karkat had absconded to as soon as you realized that the invading ships weren't planning to go away, you watch the stranger wander through the trees. He doesn't seem quite so used to dealing with this type of underbrush, all ferns and vines, which doesn't surprise you—if he's from Vareti, the likelihood that he has experience with most aspects of the islands is very low.

That's okay, he's not all that bad looking for a human. You're pretty willing to watch him stumble around in the jungle a little bit more, especially as you're not entirely sure you want to go after nobility from Vareti _again_ , even if his desperate ache for vengeance cuts through the both of you like a knife.

But even so, this man's pain is so incredibly tempting that you're not sure Karkat can resist going after him for all that much longer.

You've got one hand on his shoulder and it's as much a reminder of your presence as it is (you hope) a restraining influence. If he really decides to go after this guy, your only option for stopping him is going to be an all out brawl, which would defeat the whole purpose of fighting him entirely. A fight is nowhere near stealthy enough to keep this guy from noticing you, unless he really _is_  as oblivious as he seems.

If you had to, you'd put money on no. He's got the look of an experienced hunter to him, and from the way he pauses during the little world shifts that most non-magical creatures never seem to notice, well. You wouldn't be all that surprised if his bloodline ran deeper than he knew.

When you glance right, though, you get another surprise: Karkat's gone just as still as you are, eyes locked on the human, showing absolutely none of the signs that he's about to lunge. Either he's gotten _that_  good at control in such a short time, or he's not actually stupid enough to follow the basic instincts that got aggressive sirens killed. Not bad. You're pretty sure you were better when you first started out, but he's doing pretty okay for a guy with so much rage in such a tiny frame.

You're going to ignore the fact that he's bigger and taller than you. It's wholly inconsequential.

 

Down below, you can see the human slowly checking over whatever tracks the other humans—pirates, mostly, you think—have left behind. He pauses at the hollow, and even though you know there are no traces of you left there, a shiver still runs down your spine. It's almost like he _knows_ , and you have to wonder how much attention he's paid to his legends and lore.

When he looks up at the trees, it's a rare moment, bright and clear, sunlight shimmering down through the trees, and it's enough—you finally see his face.

Karkat, even if he kicked off an actual brawl, would have absolutely no chance at stopping your descent. You think that might be why he doesn't even try.


	5. A little time

"Ampora!"

It's not the first time you've seen the old signs of your home. It's not the first time you've seen appearances and expressions and other such things replicated so perfectly onto the descendants of those you'd loved and known. It's to be expected—sirens are a certain kind of immortal, and the people of Saresa (Sarellan, now, you had to remember that) loved the sea as much as you did. As much as you had, before everything had happened.

It _is_  the first time you've seen _him_ , the same soldier you'd once thought maybe you could love, and even though the logical, rational, _sensible_  part of your brain knows that it absolutely cannot be Marist Ampora, you've been hit hard with every emotion you've ever had related to the absolute _bastard_  who went missing on the day you died, and the only thing you can think to do is throw yourself at him and hold so fast that you'll never lose him again.

 

Time slows the slightest bit. You think it's a mental thing, the way everything grinds to a halt around you, the way you have infinitely long and impossibly short moments to take in the sea shade of his eyes (were they ever the color of a clear sky before?), the deep brown of his hair (you think it might've been black, but there's still that lighter streak at the front), the surprise in his eyes when you cried out that name (his name?) and the lines on his face (he was always a worrier)—

Then you slam into him, and his arms wrap around you on some unbidden instinct, and you're reminded that, unfortunately, sirens can still cry.

"Miss—"

"Shut up," you tell him, and his mouth promptly slams shut. "Oh, deeps, that was so fucking stupid, oh, _fuck_ , I am so sorry—"

"How do you know my name?"

Karkat drops down next to you, scowling, and you barely have a moment to look up at him before he's hauling you out of the newest Ampora's hold. "We're leaving, come on."

"Vantas?"

Your eyes go as wide as the Ampora's had, looking between the two of them. "Wait, you guys know each other?"

"Know is a very strong word," Karkat says, and you think that's about the moment that the poor bastard on the ground realizes that Karkat has _wings_.

He scrambles to sitting, and rubs at his face. "Fuck. I'm dead, then, aren't I."

"You're not _dead_ , you overdramatic piece of shit. Mildly concussed, maybe—what the _fuck_ , Feferi—but not _dead_." From what you've learned about him these past few weeks, and the little details of Karkatness you'd seen and suspected, you think that maybe— _maybe_ —he's a hell of a lot more caring than he'd actually like to let on. He proves you right when he carefully shoves you behind him (you're assuming he thinks he can protect you, which is really cute) and reaches out a hand. "Come on, Ampora—Eridan. Stop staring, let's get you back on your ship."

"Eridan Ampora," you say, and your voice is barely a whisper but his attention snaps right back to you anyway. "I, uh."

He takes Karkat's hand and the help to haul himself up, but he hasn't stopped looking you over. "You definitely don't know me, if you don't know my full name. How'd you recognize me?"

"You're an _Ampora_ , of course she recognized you," Karkat says, attempting to keep secrets via his stellar personality traits of "brusque" and "grumpy". "What the hell else would it be?"

"Dunno," Eridan says, raising an eyebrow at him. "Probably somethin related to the fact that you have wings?"

"Oh. Shit."

 

* * *

 

There's no getting rid of Marist's descendant after that, and the two of you end up leading Eridan back to one of the nicer spots on the island. It's one of the few you'd actually taken the time to decorate and tidy up once you realized that Karkat might need a while more to be persuaded, but it's still a project in progress. To Eridan's credit, he doesn't say a word, even though you're fairly sure he's enough of a noble to have never dealt with such conditions.

Or maybe he is. You wouldn't know.

Karkat, however, _would_ , and the entire trek there had ended up being an argument conveyed in whispers and hisses as Eridan politely pretended he couldn't hear a single word. By the end of it, you were _still_  no closer to figuring out the mystery of Karkat and his death, and now you had to sit down with someone who looked a hell of a lot like your oldest and dearest friend and explain exactly what the hell was going on.

Certain societal conventions apparently still held: Eridan had taken his seat and waited patiently for the two of you to take yours, before actually starting in on anything, which you thought was fairly nice but...well, it also meant that the three of you were sitting around awkwardly, waiting for someone else to go first. You and Karkat trade a glance. Karkat and Eridan swap a look. Next would be you and Eridan, but apparently, he gets somewhat distracted staring at you, until you clear your throat and give him a rather pointed expression.

He shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it of water, then runs through a set of expression you might know far too well—a sigh, a hand running through his hair, and a brief close of his eyes. "Right, okay, I'll go first. Kar, how long have you been a siren?"

"Did _everyone_  but me know about the whole siren thing?" 

"Yes, duh," you tell him, and Eridan muffles a snort. "He showed up not that long ago. Death at sea, that kind of thing...I think there was a storm at the time?"

"The attack came first," Eridan clarifies, and doesn't even wither when Karkat shoots him a furious glare. "The survivors that made it back alive said that if it hadn't been for him, no one would've made it back at all."

It's easy to see the unspoken question in burning in Karkat's eyes, and you can tell Eridan sees it too. For a moment, you wonder if he's cruel enough to make someone as proud as Karkat is ask.

Then his expression softens, and he shakes his head. "They lost one. You. The rest—there were injuries, sure, but everyone's recoverin just fine."

His shoulders slump, and he manages a little dip of his wings in recognition, a little gesture that makes Eridan's eyes light up in a way you think they haven't, recently. "Thanks."

"A'course." Now his attention turns to you, and you fix him with a look of cool regard that rapidly becomes unnecessary. "Kar's a knight. The best in Vareti, actually, one of the finest the kingdom's ever seen."

"I can see that—"

"I _was_  a knight," Karkat interrupts, staring at the ground. "Pretty fucking sure turning into a goddamn part bird-fish thing disqualifies you from the post."

"You'd be surprised," you and Eridan both mutter, in perfect synch. Ah. Okay.

Maybe he's not so unaware after all.


	6. After the rain

Filling Karkat in on the slightly sordid history of Vareti takes a hell of a lot less time than you'd think, and that's mainly due to Sir Ampora— _Eridan_ —who has apparently gone out of his way to learn all of the history and backstory surrounding his family's country, and the "remarkable" circumstances behind their rise to power there. It's the first time you learn that Eridan's ancestor had kept the stories of you alive, that almost everyone in his family had a decent idea of what you'd looked like, once upon a time, that your _own_  royal family, distant as it now was, still held a festival in your honor every year.

 

"They're careful not to hurt the sea," he reassures you, as he describes the floating lights and sea-made glass lanterns. "That's the last thing they'd want to do. But they make things that'll last, and things that'll travel, without hurting the creatures, and if they're caught up in any creature despite all the precautions they take, they've laid permanent spells on them that'll help keep the creature safe."

"How do you know that, if you're in Vareti?"

"Things are...things are a lot less tense. We were invited back, every few years, after all the dust and politics settled down. Kind of a...treaty type thing."

Karkat snorts, as disbelieving a noise as you've ever heard. "That, and they were testing your family's loyalty, the first few rounds. Seeing if any of you carried the grudge the Old Ampora did, still wanting to throw over the Crown."

"That's not _official_ , anyway," Eridan says, a faint flush in his cheeks. "But, uh, yeah. It's the reason none a us really married much higher than where we are."

 

It's kind of remarkable. Like cutting a slice out of time and biting into all the things that couldn't have been.

You have no idea how else to feel about it. You're a little lost at sea right now, like you are with regards to...well, everything else, kind of literally, because being a siren means that you are somewhat _literally_  lost at sea. Except, not, because...the sea is where you'd found yourself, right? Or...figured out what you could do, should do, would do for the rest of your life—

You think maybe Eridan and Karkat know each other well enough to be trading concerned looks, because you catch them doing it at least once and take that as an opportunity to excuse yourself and head for the trees. Not that you have any issues with them, or, uh, anything against them, but.

Maybe you could do with a little time to yourself right now. Maybe you could use a little bit of time to think.

 

* * *

 

Down below, you watch the firelight flicker, catch the whispers and snatches of conversation that drift back upwards through the trees. It's a soft kind of time, a soft kind of place, both of which are things you hadn't been sure you could ever manage to catch again. You wonder at them, these soft boys who play at much harder shells, who pretend to much sharper things.

You wonder how long it's been since the last time they let themselves feel.

 

For all of you, above and below the canopy, sleep comes slowly. Sirens don't exactly need the rest, but sometimes you take a break to dream in future things, all the changing shifting waves of the sea, and you've taught Karkat the trick as well. It's one of the things he took to so quickly you found yourself questioning all you know, but it's also one of the things you've appreciated most about your changed fate. The ability to see what might be, and steer as you needed to keep yourself safe.

Some sirens never learned how to appreciate the changing tides that drifted you safe through your dreams and back out the other side. Some preferred to avoid any chance of dreaming altogether, for fear of what they might lose, or fear of what they might happen to see. You considered both kinds to be lacking in imagination and incredibly ordinary. There was far more to be gained than lost, and the ocean's currents were neither cruel nor kind (or, they could be, but that was a path to travel another day), they simply _were_. The tides happened. The tides changed. Sirens could learn to surf them, ride them, or leave well enough alone in the worst kind of way.

 

Sleep comes slowly, but you do drift, and when you do, you dream. It is an oddly shaped sort of a thing, all kinds of time and tides trying to pull you in. Eventually, you settle on a peaceful path of future, one that you'd never seen nor ever explored, and you follow it all the way up a seaside cliff. There are sea caves nearby, you know, and you can see the exit of one such pathway near the little cottage you soon enough find yourself at. There's someone inside the house, cooking, and with a start—it looked so much like Sir Ampora—you realize that it's Eridan. From the sea caves, there's a noise—voices—and all of him seems to perk up, turning towards the cave and the three voices coming out of it.

You recognize two: Karkat's voice, and your own.

 

It is the first time you have ever turned tail and ran from a dream, and the ocean wraps around you protectively as it can, pulling you back to home.


	7. All those clouds

Below you, Eridan and Karkat are still asleep, attention lost between moments of staring at flickering embers. You wonder what they spoke about. You wonder how much more they have in common with each other than you with either of them.

You wonder if you should go, and let Karkat stay settled in this newfound knowledge of a hero's welcome home. Part of you thinks that it might be kinder, part of you thinks that you shouldn't bother to get involved at all. They can sort out their own problems: Eventually, new sirens always do. You've seen hundreds, thousands, work out what they need and want, and go out to get it. You've seen even more decide that they're happy with what they now have.

 

And you, well.

You're a creature of the past. Stuck in your own fate. Carving your own route out so much that it's become something of a rut.

You might as well go back to the winds and wings and waves.

You might as well figure out what it is that you want now that revenge is no longer viable.

 

Instead of coming to a decision, though, you keep your eyes on the ground, a steady watch over them both. It makes you feel...better, surprisingly. To keep watch over them. To know that they're safe.

Despite your considerations, you're reasonably sure that you don't want to explore the though further than this. That's a dangerous way to go, for someone like you. You've been marked for...responsibilities, destinies, _change_ , since your very birth. Trying to find a way around them, trying to cheat what's been expected of you, there's no way it can end in anything but misery.

Instead of chasing any trains of thought at all (they all seem to be leading you back down the same roads), you settle into the quiet and let the night breathe through you. There are still things for you here and there always will be.

This is enough.

 

* * *

 

A flicker of light pours through the trees, syrupy slow and warming, and your head turns towards it. All around you, the sounds of creatures waking rise up to greet the new day, and there's no difference from the space down below you. Eridan and Karkat stir with the turning of the world, and you consider, for the briefest moment, taking advantage of the distance your flight had afforded you.

And then they turn to look up at  you, waiting, and you let yourself drop down out of the tree.

 

"We've been talking." A few swims' observation has taught you that Karkat starts off on a topic like he'll lose all of his words if he can't get them out at once, then falters and stops and glances at the nearest ally once the uncertainty catches up to him. It almost makes you understand why he lines everything up to fire it off at once; it almost makes you wish he didn't feel so uncertain in himself so often. You've wondered if that's a product of his current situation; if this was less common when he knew his world and his place in it.

The look Eridan gives him—brows raised, head tilted, just a little scrunch of confusion to his frown—confirms your guess, and your heart aches for the newly made siren. "Right. Ah—well, obviously we've got to figure this shit out, aye?"

And there it is. What you were afraid of, maybe, in spades. "There's nothing to figure out," you say, and your tone is a sharper edge than you'd intended. _Pull back, ease up,_  you remind yourself. _No coral in cuts that might still bleed._  "For me, I mean. I'm a siren, this is where I live—okay, not this island, exactly, but the _ocean_ —and that's how it is."

"But—" 

Eridan's hand on Karkat's shoulder cuts him off partway, and they trade another look. These two have known each other longer than you'd thought. "That doesn't have to be the way it is. There are other options available to you, Feferi, if you'd like them."

"Options." The word has a heavier weight than Ampora—not your Ampora—intends for it, you know, and a taste so bitter you can't help but wonder where it comes from.

Unfortunately, he seems to take it as encouragement to go ahead. "You can come ba—come to Vareti. Both of you, we'll all go together, go back and...make it a home."

"Or we could go to Sarellan," Karkat adds, probably seeing the dislike of that suggestion in your eyes. "We're not going to wreak vengeance on Vareti or anything, but that doesn't mean we have to go back there."

Come back. Go back. The choices for them, then, are going _back_  to what they obviously still consider their home, or giving it up to chase some ages old fairy tale. As hopeful as they look, like they've found some magical solution, like _everything_  is suddenly going to be just fine, you can't help the (still bitter, so bitter) swell of sea-drowning bile that rises in your throat. "No."

Karkat's turn to go wide-eyed pleading, like he might just be able to convince you. "...we can't just stay here, Feferi, it's—that doesn't work."

Eridan should have enough siren blood left in him to take to the sea if he really needed to, desperately wanted to. He won't, though, you know that much, and you're not going to be the one to ask it of him. You barely _know_  him, barely know Karkat, for that matter, and you think the worst part of that is that from what you already do know of him, you think he'd probably agree if you did ask. "I said no. To all of it. I'm not going with either of you."

"But—"

"Go back to Vareti. Make your way to Sarellan for festivals or for forever. I don't care what you do, but I'm not part of it. I have sirens to look after, and an ocean to protect, so please, leave me out of it!" Your smile is brilliant, painful, probably, but bright nonetheless. "If that's all we had to talk about, then I have work to do."

Eridan's eyes narrow on you, and his grip on Karkat tightens, turns into a half-hug as he pulls the lost-looking siren into his side. For a moment, you're reminded of how well your soldier could aim. Sharpshooter. Sniper's eye. You know what's coming, and before he can manage it, you turn and bolt.

Pity you're a siren. Pity your senses are so much better.

Pity he shouts it after you, loud enough for anyone to hear.

 

_You can't run away from your past forever, princess. The ocean's not deep enough, and you're not built to be that type._


	8. All those doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in Karkat's POV!

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, all you can see is the curve of Feferi's wings, the line of her back, the way Eridan's words seem to twist the world around her as she runs further and further away.

When you turn what you're assuming is a wild-eyed look to Eridan, he sighs, shifting from his spot up on the ship's railing to drop down beside you on the deck. It's become a ritual, over these past few nights—you dream, when you sleep, and he keeps watch over the ocean. Neither of you talk about it, even though you're sure you're both hoping for the same thing.

"We'll be at Vareti in half a week," he tells you, his voice roughened by sea salt and what you're guessing is grief. "I'd say it's your last chance to head out with the tide, but we both know you could dip whenever you wanted to."

"I'm not running away from shit, Eridan. No matter what you think, I _did_  swear myself to Vareti."

Frustration doesn't suit him, but he wears defeat with surprising grace. "Kar, I didn't mean it like that. You _know_  that's not what I meant."

"Yeah," you say, staring out across the water. "I know."

 

There are tricks to making sure your most siren-like characteristics are hidden. One of Eridan's crew had taught you them the first day you came aboard, and even though it felt like you were cutting off part of yourself the first time you had tried them, you were used to it, now. It felt as comfortable to seem human as it did to be a siren, and you were trying damn hard not to think about why that was. Loss seemed to be a better color on you than you would've hoped it was, but there were other things to keep you occupied, like the quiet fuss being made over Eridan.

It was kind of sweet, actually. Seeing the crew worry about him, trying to make sure their Captain was holding up okay, even though not a soul of them knew the true story and you and Eridan were determined to keep it that way. _Miles out, and we're still keeping your secrets, Feferi_ , you'd thought, then quietly joined in on hassling Eridan to eat something. It was good, seeing people you knew again, being _yourself_  again, getting back to that place you'd built for yourself in the structure Vareti adored.

You were sure it was good. It _had_  to be good.

 

* * *

 

Half a week later, your ship comes sailing in.

 

Word had been sent ahead, that you'd been picked up in the sea. Out on an island, some people said. Survived that horrible fight, managed all on his own. Damn impressive!

The royalty, the nobility, they all knew. There wasn't a one of them that hadn't been touched by something strange, and very few generations had gone by without the sea offering its best beloveds some kind of change. Siren blood, and more besides, ran thick in the upper echelons of Varetian society.

As it turned out, they were always out for more.

 

* * *

 

Eridan's promoted. He's served his time as a knight, and now he's some kind of princeling or lord. You're not sure; you've been dealing with your own whirlwind promotion into the upper ranks, and your ensuing crisis of confidence in the way things were done. Even if you'd known that the rules here weren't strictly made to favor a meritocracy, you'd still had some pretty assumptions that had been pretty well stricken away.

 

The next time you get a chance to see Eridan, he's quietly losing it, and you're feeling much the same.

 

"I don't want this," he tells you, bursting into your new room. His outfit looks damnably stupid. Maybe he's a duke?

"What don't you want?" Your own outfit, equally ridiculous looking, is draped over the back of a chair. You're pretty sure there's a designated place to put it when it's not in use, but you have yet to find it without the assistance of several others. Besides, all of your other uniforms worked perfect well on a chair. "Because if it's the pants, I'm not sure you'll find anyone willing to trade with you."

"You're not funny, Kar," Eridan grumbles, but the slight tug back out to sea pulls on him too. You can see it in the way his attention's pulled towards the horizon, whenever he's not actively focusing on something else, in a thousand other things you'd rather not dwell on before they start getting to you more than they already were. "I just—"

"You're back, getting everything you thought you wanted once upon a time, and now the taste of it is, poetically speaking, ashes and dust?" He blinks at you. You stare him down, waiting for him to question or judge. "Well?"

When he drops down onto a handy couch—you have a _couch_  in your bedroom, it's all so fucking pointless you can't even stand it—you know you've got him dead to rights. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it, I guess. I didn't think it would feel like this, or—I guess I figured even if it did, it'd be worth it?"

"Guess what, your lordship, it's really fucking _not_. But it's what we get! So just—just get over yourself and deal with your sudden elevation in status, all the pretty ladies and lords throwing themselves at you, and—"

"Kar," he says, his hand landing on your shoulder. You take a swing at him that _thwacks_  solidly into his palm when he catches your fist. "Kar, we gotta eventually talk about this shit, okay?"

"Nope," you tell him, dropping your hands and having another go at figuring out your own idiotic outfit. "No, we don't have to talk about anything. Had a go at being a siren, it didn't suit me, so now I'm back. Beginning of story, end of story, don't even bother with trying to bring up the middle, Eridan Ampora. You hear me?"

Eridan stares at you, and what little you can see through attempting to _avoid_  eye contact tells you that he's never felt so—something. Hurt. Lost. Betrayed. A fuckton of adjectives that all add up to nothing good. "Yeah, Vantas," he finally says, and you're reminded that you didn't know him half so well as you should've before the whole mess, that you barely know him even now. "I hear you."

 

 _You barely know him,_  you tell yourself, and pretend it's enough to brace you against how much the sound of the door closing after him hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I PROMISE this is only a brief period of Sadness before everyone gets their happily ever after  
> brief. very brief.  
> only like three chapters long SORRY BOUT IT

**Author's Note:**

> this work will update at least once a month during major events, and twice a month when event seasons are over, until it's completely done


End file.
